Day of the Shadow

by Rob Kidd

  Seagulls drifted in an impossibly blue sky, and the merchant ship skipped lightly over the white-tipped waves. Everything was beautiful and calm. It was as if the battle in Marseille had never happened…as if there were no Shadow Lord planning his terrible revenge, no Day of the Shadow creeping up on them.

  “It’s late in the day,” Diego whispered. “The sun will be setting soon.”

  Carolina felt a pang of worry. What had happened to their friends back on the dock?

  As if he’d read her mind, Diego added, “Don’t worry. Jack will take care of them. He can get out of any scrape.”

  “I hope so,” Carolina said. “I hope he wouldn’t just leave them while he goes looking for the Shadow Gold.”

  Rrrrroorrrrwl, her stomach growled, and they both couldn’t help smiling.

  “I’m hungry, too,” Diego admitted.

  “This feels awfully familiar,” said Carolina. “Two stowaways escaping my father, hiding on a ship…starving…” Their escape from San Augustin had been a lot like this. They’d fled to the first ship they could find, and then spent days huddled in the hold, scrounging morsels of food while they waited for a chance to sneak out at the next port.

  Diego crept over to the nearest barrel and peeked inside. Dry beans—that wouldn’t help them. He had to open three more barrels before he found one filled with the hardtack that nearly every ship sailed with. They lasted so long, they were a good backup for emergencies. Diego handed one to Carolina and took one for himself. To their relief, these weren’t quite as hard on their teeth as the ones on the Pearl.

  “This isn’t so bad, right?” he said, perching on a barrel. “Just the two of us again? Now we can go ahead with the original plan: find an island, change our names, get jobs, and blend in with the—why are you shaking your head?”

  “We can’t just forget everything we know now,” Carolina said. She tucked a long strand of dark hair behind her ear. “We know the Shadow Lord is out there, and we have to stand up and fight him when the Day of the Shadow comes. We’ve told almost all the Pirate Lords. The Brethren Court will be ready. I’m not going to be hiding under the bed while all our pirate friends risk their lives to save the world.”

  “Maybe you should,” Diego said seriously. “Wait, don’t argue. I know you’re a great fighter and very brave and all that—but Carolina, remember what Jean said? When he ate the prophetic berries?”

  Carolina fell silent for a moment as they both remembered the scene in the jungle of Madagascar. She could clearly see the berry juice staining Jean’s pale face. His eyes had rolled back in his head so only the whites were showing, and his words were hoarse and panicked:

  “She’ll die! If you take the last vial—I see it—she dies—I see her hair, long and dark—and the blood—so much blood—she dies trying to save you, Jack! On the Day of the Shadow!”

  Diego shivered. If he had anything to say about it, Carolina would stay far, far away from Jack, the Pirate Lords, any other pirates, and shadows of any sort until the Day of the Shadow was long past. Of course, telling Carolina to do something didn’t usually go over very well.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Carolina said. “Jean might be wrong anyway. I have to—”

  BOOM!

  The ship they were on surged perilously to the side as something smashed through the wall only a few inches from Diego’s head. Carolina and Diego were thrown over the coil of rope and crashed into the stacks of boxes near the door. Splinters of wood flew around the room, and they both covered their heads to protect their eyes. A burning smell filled the air.

  Dazed, Carolina climbed to her feet, caught her balance on the ferociously rocking floor, and pulled Diego up beside her. Smoke and dust filled the room, and they both started coughing. Diego groaned softly and staggered against her, his head drooping.

  “Are you all right?” she cried. “Oh, no—Diego, you’re bleeding!”

  Some of the wreckage from the exploding wall had hit Diego: his shoulder was bleeding badly from a deep cut, and a shard of wood was embedded in his calf. Dark blood was seeping through his breeches and dripping onto the floor.

  Frantically, Carolina pulled off her cloak and began tearing it into strips to bind Diego’s wounds. She had to get him out of this room.

  What if they were hit again?

  And what had hit them in the first place?

  She whirled around and stared at the smoking cannonball lying on the floor. Its path of destruction led back to a giant hole now gaping in the side of the ship. Diego and Carolina’s little porthole was still intact, but almost the entire wall beside it was missing. And through the giant hole, she could clearly see a long galley ship racing toward them. It was bristling with cannons, all of them pointing at the merchant ship on which Carolina and Diego were hiding.

  Fluttering from the top of the mainmast was a bright green Jolly Roger, emblazoned with four white crescent moons and a double-bladed sword.

  Only one pirate flew a Jolly Roger like that.

  They were under attack…by the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea!

  CHAPTER SIX

  Capitaine Chevalle had been Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean for a very long time. Jack could remember the snobbish Frenchman visiting with Captain Teague when Jack was younger. Jack would be sent to bed early while the two of them sipped champagne, laughed over stories of their crews, and inevitably ended the night trying to kill each other in a drunken duel—although neither of them could see straight enough at that point to actually inflict any harm.

  The next morning, Chevalle would be gone, and Teague would spend the day in bed with a splitting headache, grumbling about how much he hated Frenchmen. That was, until Chevalle showed up again…and out came the smiles and champagne once more.

  On one of these visits, when Jack was nine years old, Chevalle’s gold-topped walking stick had mysteriously vanished while the two old pirates were feasting on wine and duck and sweetmeats. Oh, the fury when the theft was discovered! The roaring! The accusations! The swashbuckling battle that ensued! Jack had watched it all from the rafters, grinning and twirling the stick between his hands. At the height of the battle, when the two men had their swords at each other’s throats, Jack leaned out and dropped the stick precisely so it struck both their heads at once, knocking them out instantly.

  Then he’d eaten all the sweetmeats himself and scampered off to bed.

  But if he’d hoped that would be the end of Chevalle’s visits, he was sorely mistaken. Both pirates assumed they had hallucinated the theft under the influence of the wine, which was also no doubt to blame for their headaches the next day.

  Much to Jack’s dismay, Chevalle’s snooty voice and overpowering lavender scent continued to plague him. He could remember sitting up in the crow’s nest on Teague’s ship and spotting the Fancy sailing into the harbor. Which was a ridiculous name for a pirate ship, if you asked Jack. All frippery and ostentation and not at all intimidating, much like Chevalle himself.

  And yet, despite Chevalle’s many visits to Teague, Jack could only remember Teague returning the favor once. Several years ago, Jack and Teague had traveled together to Chevalle’s ancient family mansion just outside Marseille. The journey involved a winding path through a thick forest, to keep the mansion hidden from Chevalle’s enemies, but Jack’s unusual mind still remembered the way.

  He also remembered the dilapidated mansion visible beyond the tall wrought-iron fence. Thick vines of ivy covered the walls, and a good portion of the roof in the east wing had fallen in, leaving rooms open to the sky like the gaping holes in a pirate’s smile.

  Jack pushed his hat back on his head and surveyed the mansion warily. It had fallen into even worse disrepair since he had last been there. Night was spreading across the wide green lawn, but there was still enough light for him to see the advancing decay. A broken shutter banged back and forth on an upper story. Wind whistled through most of the windows where the glass had been shattered, possibly during some violent pirate battle.
In fact, if Jack remembered correctly, at least two of those had been broken courtesy of Teague’s own pistol.

  Chevalle’s family had once been terribly wealthy French aristocrats. No one was quite sure whether Chevalle had turned to piracy because they lost all their money…or whether they’d lost their money after the monarchy punished them for Chevalle’s piracy.

  Either way, Chevalle did not seem troubled by his poverty. He often referred to himself flippantly as “the penniless Frenchman.” The loot he acquired on his piratical excursions was always invested back into his ship instead of his ancestral home. Jack sometimes wondered if Chevalle was expecting the government to take his mansion at any moment, and if that was why he spent no money on it.

  Jack hooked his fingers in the iron gate and started climbing nimbly up the scrollwork. His sword nearly got caught in the decorative black iron skull and crossbones that glared out through the bars, but he disentangled it swiftly, swung himself over the sharp spikes at the top, and jumped lightly down to the ground.

  “Very subtle,” Jack muttered at the skull and crossbones, rolling his eyes.

  Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…

  Jack froze. What was that? A growl in the darkness…his eyes darted around the wild garden that stood between him and the mansion’s front door. Weeds and dandelions and ivy choked the grass that had once been smooth and manicured. The hedges had once been trimmed into fanciful shapes—unicorns and devils and sailing ships—but now they were overgrown tangles of brambles and thorns. Was something hiding behind one of them?

  Was it one of the shadow creatures? Or something worse…something more tangible, with big, unfriendly teeth?

  Jack took a long, cautious step sideways toward the house. Nothing happened. He took another. He tried to look harmless and not in the least noteworthy. “Not going to the mansion,” he said. “No sir, not I. Just happen to be passing through these lovely…er, charming…er, picturesque gardens. Yes indeed…”

  RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

  Jack swallowed hard and turned around slowly.

  And then he started to laugh.

  Poised in the semidarkness below one of the hedges was the fluffiest, whitest, tiniest, silliest-looking dog that Jack had ever seen. It was no taller than his knee, and its fur was coiffed into ridiculous puffballs around its head, paws, and rear end. It blinked tiny black eyes at him and growled again.

  “Oh, pardonnez moi, mademoiselle,” Jack teased, sweeping his hat off his head. “I am so sorry for intruding on your elegant soiree. I had no idea it was a who’s-got-the-most-absurdhaircut party, or I would have brought my first mate, Barbossa.”

  Laughing at his own excellent joke, Jack clapped his hat back on his head and turned to saunter on.

  Suddenly the little dog lunged forward and sank its teeth into Jack’s boot.

  “OOOOOWWWWW!” Jack howled, equal parts outrage and pain. He jumped and shook his foot until the little dog let go and bounced back a step. “Look what you did!” Jack yelled. “Teeth marks! In my boot! How dare you!”

  RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! The dog let out a volley of angry barks and then lunged at Jack again. But this time he was prepared.

  This time, he ran.

  He sprinted through the gardens, his arms flailing and his legs pumping madly. The dog nipped at his heels all the way to the front door. Jack didn’t even have time to slam the door in its face. He kept running right into the house and straight down one of the long marble halls. As he reached the end of the hall, he glanced back and saw the dog’s delicate furry paws skidding on the slippery marble. He was just far enough ahead to leap through the nearest door, slam it behind him, and vault onto the giant wooden table that filled the room.

  To Jack’s horror, when he looked down, he realized that someone had used an axe (or a sword) to carve a hole in the bottom of the door—a hole just big enough for a small dog to leap through, which is precisely what happened.

  YAP! YAP! YAP! the dog hollered, bouncing and leaping around the table as if he were shouting: “Come down from there, you coward! Come down and face me like a dog!”

  “No, thank you,” Jack said politely. “I’d much rather stay up here. This is exactly where I intended to be.”

  Suddenly his nose twitched. He clutched his face, and then sneezed three times in rapid succession. That overpowering scent of dying lavender flowers…that could only mean one thing.

  “Ah, Jacques,” purred an insufferable French voice behind him. The accent—and the weight of the arrogance and egotism buried in it—made Jack’s skin crawl. “Bienvenue to le chateau Chevalle. I hope you will not be staying long.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Carolina blinked, her eyes stinging. Smoke was quickly filling the storage room. Already in pain from his wounds, Diego was starting to lose consciousness. If he breathed too much of this smoke, he would suffocate, and so would she.

  “Come on,” she said, shaking him. “Diego, stay awake. We have to get out of here.”

  “What’s happening?” he said woozily as she threw one of his arms over her shoulders. They staggered the last few steps to the door, slipping on spilled rum and broken glass. Carolina could feel small pebbles under her feet. When she looked down, she realized the floor was littered with dry beans that had exploded out of one of the barrels when the cannonball hit. She kicked the debris out of their way and leaned Diego up against the wall while she dragged a dented box aside. Finally, she got the door open and pulled Diego upright again.

  Just as they stepped into the outside corridor, the ship was rocked by another explosion, and they both fell. Smoke poured out of the room behind them, and Carolina twisted around to kick the door shut. There was shouting and more smoke from the galley, where the second cannonball must have hit.

  Three sailors came running from the sleeping area and skidded to a halt, gaping at Carolina and Diego.

  One of them gasped. “What’s that?”

  “Stowaways!” cried another.

  “It’s a girl! A GIRL!” the third shouted in horror.

  “Oh, shut up,” Carolina said, grabbing a pistol from his belt. “You’ve got bigger problems. The Pirate Lord of the Black Sea is attacking you!”

  This announcement made all three sailors blanch with terror. “Not Ammand the Corsair!” the first one gibbered. “He’s going to kill us all! He’s going to string us up from the yardarms and use our bones for wind chimes!”

  “I’ve never even heard of Ammand the Corsair,” Carolina said. “So he can’t be too bad. My—I mean, I’ve heard, uh, Spanish noblemen complaining about the Barbary pirates for years, and his name never came up.”

  “He’s new,” the second sailor whispered, his brown eyes wild with fear. “They say he murdered the last Pirate Lord and his entire crew by himself, using only his scimitar and deadly skill. He took the title with violence, and ever since he has been wreaking havoc from Morocco to Turkey.”

  “He will not stay in the Black Sea,” the third sailor chimed in. “His fleet terrorizes ships throughout the Mediterranean and the Adriatic, Villanueva’s territory. I heard he even stole from some of Villanueva’s own ships.”

  “Maybe he’s the one who made Villanueva disappear!” wailed the first sailor.

  “What?” Carolina asked. Villanueva had disappeared?

  But the sailors were too worked up now to answer her questions. “We’re all going to die!” shouted the second sailor. “I knew we never should have left Barbados!”

  “Our blood will run like rum into the ocean!” hollered the third. “This is the end!”

  They all turned to run away, but Carolina grabbed the third sailor by his jacket before he got too far.

  “Wait!” she said. “Where is your surgeon? My friend needs help.”

  Diego let out a small groan of pain. The sailor blinked at him, then at Carolina, then back at Diego. “Our surgeon,” he said dazedly. “Our surgeon is our captain. He used to be a doctor before he went to sea—he fired the last
surgeon in Marseille because he knew he could do a better job than that idiot.”

  “Right,” Carolina said, although her heart sank a little. The captain surely wouldn’t have time to look at Diego in the middle of a battle, while he was trying to save his ship from corsairs. “Help me carry him up to the deck,” she commanded the sailor.

  Even dressed as a ragamuffin pirate, she had the royal bearing of a princess, and it had the desired effect. The sailor obediently knelt to lift Diego’s head and shoulders while Carolina took his legs. Carefully they maneuvered him up the stairs into the fresh air above, away from the billowing clouds of smoke that were spreading throughout the lower decks.

  They emerged from the hatch into a scene of chaos and panic. Sailors were running back and forth, half of them loading guns while the others tried to make the ship go faster. But it was no use; the galley was nearly upon them. Carolina could see the word SEREF emblazoned on the side of the pirate ship in large gold letters. Pirates crowded the railings, their gold teeth glittering as they smiled, waving their scimitars in anticipation of the battle to come.

  Carolina spotted the captain of the merchant ship right away. He was standing on the quarterdeck, yelling instructions in a businesslike way, with the red glow of the setting sun at his back. His hair was thin and gray and balding; most of it was tied back in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore silver-rimmed spectacles and a green kerchief tied around his neck. He looked significantly calmer than most of the other men on board.

  “That’s Captain Hawk,” the sailor with Carolina said, pointing to him. He helped Carolina prop Diego against one of the masts, out of the way of all the running boots.

  The wind caught Carolina’s hair and tossed it around her face. Even in the midst of panic, a few sailors stopped to gape at the sudden appearance of a girl on their ship. She wished she could hide under her cloak again, but she’d torn that into strips to bandage Diego’s wounds. So instead she scowled back at them until they ran back to their jobs.